


Hungry Like The Wolf

by Daryl_Alenko



Series: Trope Challenge [12]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Friends to Lovers, M/M, No Allison Argent, Trope Challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-16 21:20:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28713423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daryl_Alenko/pseuds/Daryl_Alenko
Summary: The Bite, it changed Scott's life. How could it not? He just didn't expect it to shift his outlook on his best friend.
Relationships: Scott McCall/Stiles Stilinski
Series: Trope Challenge [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2086479
Kudos: 93





	Hungry Like The Wolf

**Author's Note:**

> Trope 12 - Best Friends to Lovers.

* * *

It's been a week since Scott was bitten while looking for a dead body with his best friend. Seven days of his body going through more changes than puberty. As if raging hormones and the basic changes of masculinity weren't enough, he now struggles not to turn into a hairy beast any time his heart beats a little too fast. He also has to deal with enhanced hearing and smell that hit whenever the hell they feel like it, no matter how inconvenient. Seriously, he's had to suffer smelling the boys bathroom from halfway across the school twice already. Nothing ruins an appetite faster! 

If not for his best friend, he's pretty sure he'd have lost his mind by now. It was Stiles that figured out he had become a Werewolf. Stiles that taught him that anger and distress transform him, but something specific can anchor him. What he didn't tell him ... is that his best friend is his anchor. It doesn't really surprise him, because they've been best friends since they met each other in the sandbox at three years old. Stiles is the closest person he's ever had. 

So, of course he'd be his anchor when he feels overwhelmed. Of course his newly found wolf instincts would feel a little possessive of him. And of -course- he would find that Stiles is the best smelling thing -ever- .... right!?

* * *

"Scott ... Scotty .... SCOTTY!" The poor newly turned werewolf winces when Stiles' voice cuts through the crowded hallway, ringing above all the conversations. Considering Stiles -knows- that he has enhanced hearing ... his friend is doing this on purpose. Not surprising. Stiles is the best friend he could ever have ... but he's also kind of an asshole. They both are. 

"Must not kill the best friend ... must not kill the best friend ..." He grits these words out, having to remind himself that newly found wolfy instincts should not be targeted at Stiles. The full moon is tomorrow, and Scott finds that he's having to fight against a -lot- of mood swings. He considers going to Derek for help, but he really doesn't think he can stand a round of silent treatment from Stiles if he does.

"Scott my man! I -know- you can't ignore me, dude." God, if Stiles only knew how -true- that statement is! He turns, slamming his locker closed as his friend finally makes it through the sea of hormones to stand next to him. Scott's nose wrinkles in disgust, the myriad of scents now clinging to his best friend makes him want to snarl and rip his clothes off. When that thought causes a little tingle down his spine, he adamantly refuses to acknowledge it. 

"Of course I can't. No one can, Stiles, you're too loud. Well, maybe Lydia." He wants to cheer when he manages not to growl or spit the name of the girl that his best friend is utterly in love with. He can remember watching those stupid day time talk shows with 'white trash' on them. He'd never understood why cat fights broke out until the first time he daydreamed about scratching Lydia's eyes out. 

"Ouch, dude. I mean, seriously! Why you gotta bring that up, man?" Stiles is whining, intentionally. Putting as much petulance into his voice as he can, in hopes of disarming Scott. And it works. It -always- works! Stiles is this little ball of fluffy cuteness that has a way of getting under Scott's skin.

Originally, he assumed it was because he wanted to learn. Wanted to be like his friend. But as he stands here, trying so hard not to shove his best friend against the lockers and rub allll over him to get rid of the stench of other people, he's starting to wonder if he has it all wrong. 

"Sorry, Stiles. What's up?" He shoves the strap of his pack onto his shoulder, grabs his best friend by the wrist, and begins to yeet him out of the hallway. He dodges through the other students, dragging his best friend out of the school and into the fresh afternoon air. 

"Well, as it just so happens, it's about Lydia!" Damn it! Why did he have to bring -her- up?! Scott growls, thankfully too low for Stiles' human ears to pick up. "She totally talked to me, Scott. Like, all on her own, no prompting. Just walked up to me and talked." Scott growls again, his hand tightening on Stiles' wrist, turning and yanking his friend toward his Jeep. Seriously, Stiles needs to get a brand new survival instinct, because he's literally provoking a beast and doesn't even realize it!

"Oh yeah? And how did she get your name wrong -this- time?" Stiles yanks his wrist out of Scott's grip, frowning at him. It causes something to tighten in his gut, makes him want to roll over and show Stiles his belly in apology.

"Dude, what the hell? I get that it's almost ... your time of the month and everything, but don't. Why do you gotta rain all over my parade, Scott? She -finally- talked to me. Don't you see how cool this is?" Stiles smells .. wrong, now. Bitter and acidic. It burns his nose, makes his heart beat sluggishly. 

"Honestly?" Scott grunts the word, moving to cross his arms over his chest to -stare- at his best friend. He's done with this! Tired of feeding this delusion. How can Stiles not get that Lydia wants nothing to do with him, and never will?!? "No, I don't see it, Stiles. She's stuck up and is -never- going to like you! No amount of scheming and planning is going to change that. She can't even get your name right! Plus, she's dating Jackson. Has been since he stopped thinking girls were gross. -That's- her type, not you. You need to step back into reality and you need to get over her!" His voice has steadily risen until he realizes that he's practically shouting at his best friend. Oh, this is not good! 

Stiles' scent has slowly, steadily shifted until ... what the hell?? He literally cannot smell anything coming off his best friend. Is that even possible? It immediately makes his instincts think of something dead, and thus incapable of change. He swallows down a sudden wave of panic. 

"... screw you, Scott." Stiles jumps into his Jeep and takes off before Scott can get past his own panic. Yeah .. he totally screwed this up!

* * *

The full moon is only a few hours off, and Scott ... is not doing well. Stiles has refused to answer any of his calls and didn't show up for school today. After that weirdness with his scent, Scott is skirting a panic attack or something and he doesn't have the first clue how to handle it. Stiles is his .. guru, or life coach, guiding star, whatever! He's the one who knows how to sort these kinds of things out! Add to it the fact that Lydia nearly kissed him, and Scott is walking on tenterhooks, afraid that the littlest thing is going to cause him to shift and blow -everything-. 

He -really- needs Stiles! 

"Scott." Lydia's deceptively sweet voice grates against his nerves. This time, when he slams his locker door, he nearly takes it off the hinges. He jerks his hand down, behind his back. He had seen a hint of claws!

"What." He doesn't bother making the word a -question-, not really wanting to acknowledge her existence right now. While he knows that he ultimately messed up being so blunt with his best friend, he's not too happy with Lydia, either. She knows damn well who Stiles is, -knows- that he has a crush on her, and she has done nothing to actually discourage it. He's sure she likes the attention, even if she never shows it. He struggles not to gnash his teeth at her as she moves to stand in front of him. Trying her best to look coy and seductive but all he wants to do is bite her. 

"Given your sudden elevation in social status, I really don't understand what you have to be grumpy about. Not that it matters. I'm about to elevate you even further. I'm your date to the game tonight. You're welcome." 

"Not interested." He grits the response out between clenched jaws, feeling his fangs itching to grow. Not good. Come on, Scott! Anchor, man! He pictures Stiles, one of a hundred thousand memories. It's the day he got his Mom's Jeep. His first stop had, of course, been Scott's. He had practically yeeted himself into his arms, to give him a big, jumping hug. He always had so much trouble sitting still. 

"You're joking. You have to be. You are a nobody on the cusp of being a somebody. There's no way you're turning me down." Lydia doesn't sound offended so much as bored and again .. Scott really doesn't understand what Stiles sees in the vapid girl. He rolls his eyes and steps around her.

"Not joking. You're not my type, Lydia. Cold-blooded Banshees really don't do it for me." He doesn't bother fighting down the almost feral grin he gets as he heads out the doors of the school. He has no intention of going to the game, first string or not.

There's only one place he needs to be tonight.

* * *

When he gets to Stiles, the last minutes of sunlight are already fading. If he were -smart-, he'd make damn sure that he wasn't here when the full moon is only minutes from rising. But, well. He's a teenage boy. How smart can he actually be!?

The house is quiet and dark, save Stiles' bedroom. Scott takes a deep breath. He can smell that the Sheriff hasn't been home for a little bit, most likely working the late shift tonight. Good. It means he won't have to worry about the older man coming home and interrupting what is sure to be a hell of a lot of groveling. He looks around, makes sure that Stiles' nosy neighbors aren't paying attention and easily leaps up, onto the back of the house. He pushes Stiles' window open and rolls into the room. He comes to a stop on his knees, poised to lunge and defend, though he's not sure -why-. Nothing says that Stiles' is in distress. 

Until he takes a deep breath and nearly gags on the taste/scent of salt water. 

"What the hell do you want?" Stiles' voice is calm and dull in a way that hits Scott dead centre of the heart. He has -always- hated when Stiles sounds like this because it's just .. it's not -him-. It's not -STILES-. He huffs, carefully climbing to his feet and looking around the room. Stiles is sitting on the foot of his bed, hands clasped together tightly, still wearing the clothes he had slept in. Scott can smell old sweat, hormones, the remnants of emotions that have saturated the fabric. A part of him is overjoyed that his best friend no longer smells like the halls of Beacon Hills High, but a part of him is also angry that his friend smells so sad and disturbed. He swallows a whimper, taking a step toward the bed. 

"Don't even think about it, Fido. I'm not in the mood for your BS. What do you -want-, Scott?" Stiles hasn't looked up from his hands, and Scott is seriously considering the whole groveling thing again. He hasn't seen Stiles this mad at him in a long time. 

"You weren't in school today. You didn't text or call me, and every time I turned around, you just weren't -there-. Then Lydia tried to ask me out and didn't understand when I said no, but there's no way I would do that to you, Stiles. I promise. And please, -please- stop being mad at me!" It's always weird when he finds himself rambling and Stiles being silent. It goes against the natural order of things, but it has happened on occasion. Not enough for him to know how to -deal- with it, but still. 

".... seriously!? I'm supposed to -believe- that after all that BS you said about her? Whatever, Scott. Just leave." Stiles has finally stopped looking at his hands in favor of jumping to his feet and pointing angrily at the window. Apparently, expecting him to go back the way he came in. He has zero intention of doing that just yet. Unless Stiles physically throws him out, he's not leaving until this is resolved. 

"Stiles ..." He takes a few careful steps forward, wondering why -he's- the one having to approach the human as if he's a wild animal when he's just a few good minutes from becoming one himself. "I swear I'm telling the truth!" 

"Yeah well, that's all fine and well for you to say, Scott. But I'm not -like- you! I'm human! I don't have the luxury of being able to hear when you lie." Scott does -not- need even more examples of the fact that he's not human anymore. He huffs in frustration and snags Stiles' hand. As gently as he can, he forces his best friend to sit again, settling next to him. He slowly presses Stiles' palm against his chest, grabbing his other hand so that he can press Stiles' fingers against the pulse point of his neck.

"Stiles. I am telling you the truth. Lydia told me I was her date to the game tonight, and I turned her down." He waits semi-patiently, not looking away from Stiles' exasperated expression, despite the fact that it's beginning to feel like his blood is going to boil in his veins. Stiles' eyes widen and then narrow and Scott can feel his hand shaking where it's pressed against his chest. 

He also gets a sudden nose full of a sugary, caramel smell and his mouth waters a little. 

"You ... you're telling the truth." Scott wants to shout FINALLY at the top of his lungs, but he drops the hand instead, sighing.

"Yes. I wouldn't lie to you about something like this, Stiles. You used to know that." Scott finds himself curling in a little, hunching himself over to try and be .. smaller. 

"Yeah, well, I used to know a -lot- of stuff, Scott, and then everything changed! Suddenly, you're this super hot, popular lacrosse player that everyone wants to know and the girl that is supposed to be my end-all-be-all desire for a partner is hitting on you and I'm totally mad for the -wrong- reasons!" Stiles has entered full rant mode. So much so that he leaps to his feet and begins to pace around the room. Managing to stay away from Scott despite all the movement. "Can you even explain that to me?!"

What .... just ... yeah ... what!? 

"... are ... are you saying ... I'm hot??" The words fumble and stumble from him, fairly chopped up because of the rush of emotion in them.

"What? I mean ... seriously, Scott, -that's- what you take away from all of that? I am having a -crisis- and you are worried about if you're hot or not? Eesh!"

"No! I'm worried if -you- think I'm hot or not, Stiles! And it is -not- a crisis! Lydia doesn't deserve you, she proved that a lot. And not just by asking me out. She pretends she has no damn clue who you are, but -everyone- knows who you are. I bet she just does it because she loves being worshiped without having to actually put herself out there -at all-. She takes advantage of you and I'm -tired- of it!" Scott leaps off the bed, roaring his words loudly. He can feel the added depth to them, and he knows without even looking, that time is up. 

His mouth hurts, jaws lengthening slightly, fangs forcing their way out. His fingers feel longer, claws making them sharp and deadly.

"Oh shit! Scott ... Imma need you to concentrate, buddy. Okay? Because it's me. It's your best friend, Stiles. You cannot go all psycho wolfy and kill me, okay?" Stiles' voice has hit a register that Scott hasn't heard since Jackson and his cronies had locked him in a gym locker in middle school. Scott had been frantic when he heard Stiles screaming for help. He had eventually managed to get him free, but had suffered a horrible asthma attack after. 

It doesn't sound right. Everything about it puts him on edge. Ramps up the wild feelings taking root. No matter how hard he fights it, he turns his head and watches the moon begin to peek over the horizon. 

"I am way too young to die, Scott! Not to mention I am one half of this amazing bromance, so you really need to get yourself in check." Really, Stiles ... really!? The mention of a BROMANCE is enough to pull Scott back from the brink for a moment so that he can give a full body, epic eye roll before turning his yellow eyes on his best friend. Advancing in a slow prowl.

"Do you ever shut -up-? On and on and on, it never ends!" Scott grunts the words which are a little distorted by his fangs. The moment he's within reach, he pounces Stiles. Shoves him into his bedroom wall next to his closet door. His senses immediately go insane! The burnt sugar and cola smell of Stiles' surprise, the jackrabbit beat of his heart as his busted fight or flight sense tries to ignite. "You smell good, Stiles. So good." His nostrils flare even as he shoves himself forward a little more. Carefully runs the tip of his nose along the curve of his jaw. Can feel the faint, wiry bristle of stubble, the smooth slickness of sweat. Even here, he can feel his pulse, as if it's calling to him. On a whim, he presses the bared curve of his fangs against the spot, no intention of biting. Just feeling the skin with them.

"Scott!" Stiles voice breaks on a high register, his eyes snapping closed even as he begins to tremble. It's that last bit, more than anything, that takes the werewolf off guard. Stiles .... is afraid of him. A part of his instinct is utterly thrilled by that idea. It wants to let Stiles go .. wants to make him -run- so that he can chase him down. Can capture what is -his-. Or at least should be. 

"The things I wanna do to you, Stiles." The werewolf sighs his best friend's name, presses his fangs a second time to is jaw before pulling back. Not letting go, just pulling back. So that he can study Stiles' features. He's cringing, eyes closed so tight he must be seeing stars on his closed lids. His nose surprisingly downturned, mouth closed so tight that it has become a thin, white line of fear. 

The other part of him -hates- the thought that Stiles is so terrified of him. They have been best friends their entire lives ... Stiles should never have to fear him. 

"Please don't kill me, Scott." Those words ..... those words do it. They punch through the werewolf high and grapple with his heart. He inhales so sharply that Stiles' eyes open on instinct, and then widen. Scott can only imagine how bizarre he looks. Fully wolfed out, probably sporting a pissed off and yet hurt puppy look. 

What he is in no way expecting is for Stiles to eagerly reach out and -touch- him. It starts with his finger tips running over his brows, down the fur that sprouted on his jaw, across one of his lips so that he can tenderly press the edge of his thumb against a fang. Scott is too mesmerized to worry that it might cut his friend. (Thankfully, it doesn't.) The more Stiles touches him, the more overwhelmed he feels, until he snaps. He grabs Stiles' wrist, slams it against the wall above his head so that Stiles is pinned between him and the wall. 

This time, the other teen doesn't react in fear. Instead, this intoxicating scent begins to permeate him. It's hard to pick out any one note of aroma, instead, it invokes memories in Scott. The two of them laying side-by-side on the lacrosse pitch, laughing as they struggled to catch their breath. Shoulder to shoulder, shouting excitedly as they played video games. Curled up on Stiles bed, half asleep. It smells like belonging, home, and longing. That last one .. that's the one that snags his senses and courses through his veins. 

"S-Scott." This time, Stiles' voice doesn't break. It waivers, trembles, but there is no fear in it. Scott swallows thickly, his own eyes snapping closed for a moment. It takes almost half a minute for him to understand that something has changed. He isn't able to change back, but he's not changing any further. The complete loss of control he had felt has ceased. Just .. stopped. He is fully in control of his mind, his instincts. 

He had known Stiles was his anchor, but not like this. He swallows again, forces his eyes open so that he and Stiles are staring at each other. 

"Stiles. You're my anchor." He blurts the words out, winces at how awkward they sound, but it's a truth that needs to be known. "I don't know why, but you're my anchor. I track you every minute of every day. If I can't hear or smell you, I feel completely lost. I blew off Lydia and starting line on the team to make up with you. I just ... I don't ...." He growls in frustration, the sound so deep and odd but it makes him feel a little better.

"..... I love you too, Scott." The werewolf wants to rage at that. It's not unusual, in any way, these playful declarations of love from his best friend. People had assumed several times through out their friendship that they were together, because they did that. Made playful kissy faces at each other, hugged at the drop of a pin for no real reason, and made declarations of love. It was all -playful- and Scott is officially tired of it. He sucks in a breath, ready to say .. he's not sure -what-, but it probably won't be good. "No, Scott. LISTEN to me, dude. I. Love. You. Too." As Stiles enunciates every word of the I love you, Scott listens. -REALLY- listens. 

Each beat of Stiles' heart is steady, true. Doesn't even suffer the usual over excitement Scott is used to hearing. Stiles is telling the truth. There is no playfulness, no over exaggeration in the words. He means them wholeheartedly. Scott drops Stiles' wrist, stumbles back a few steps and just ... stares at his best friend. How had he not figured this out? If not -before- the Bite, after it. Shouldn't he have heard Stiles' heart, smelled something on him?? But then ... Stiles had been a little more .. guarded, lately. He hadn't made any spontaneous declarations or been as playful. He had attributed that to the stress they'd been under lately, not some ... countermeasure on his friend's part. 

"You ... you really ..." He silently curses his inability to form complete sentences, and instead, just stares dumbly at his friend.

"Yeah, Scott .. I -really-. Look, I know this isn't what you want to hear, and it's fine. Really. It's not something you have to worry about. I'll find a way to get a handle on it, and it'll be cool. It's not like you ever knew before, and everything was fine. It's gonna be --" Scott panics. It sounds like Stiles is saying that he will -get over this- and the werewolf will be damned if that happens. No, no, and just hell no! He leaps forward in a panic, hands grabbing at Stiles' hips and pinning him forcefully to the wall once more. 

"No! I mean .. no. No, this isn't something you should .. handle. Really. There needs to be -no- handling, Stiles. Because I do, too. Really, -really- do, man. You're my -anchor-. That means .. a lot. Please, just don't --" His words are cut off by the clumsy press of Stiles' lips to his, and he forgets how to breathe for a moment. Forgets how to function, which means that he forgets to kiss back. Only when Stiles begins to panic and pull back does he act.

His hands fly up, grabbing Stiles by the cheeks and pressing him close into a sloppy, clumsy, euphoric kiss. It lasts until Stiles has to physically push him back so that he can take a desperate, dazed breath.

".... like I said. I love you too, Scott."

"I do! I love you, Stiles."

**Fin**


End file.
